


anagnorisis

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: “Did you know that there’s a bit of magic in everything?” John asks. “There’s even enough to tell the future from an apple.”Or, John bests a demon, and an apple bests him





	anagnorisis

**Author's Note:**

> anagnorisis: the moment a character makes a critical discovery; in greek, it meant recognition, of a person and what that person stood for
> 
> readwriteandavengers mentioned the idea of john using kid magic and introduced me to apple peel magic, which is a real thing apparently. full disclosure, though, i tweaked it a good bit
> 
>  
> 
>  **cw:** references to canonical child abuse

Lisa Gowan is a sweet girl. She's nine years old and sees the whole world stretched out before her, and she's decided she’s gonna have it all. President by day, crime vigilante by night- she sees no flaws in that plan, and from the determined look in her eye, she’s prepared to see it come to fruition.

Or she was when she went over her plan with Chas on the way to the cabin they’re renting out here. The map told them to look in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, and Zed found her way into some police reports that read as obvious signs of a demon making trouble. So here they are.

The latest demonic casualty looked to be Lisa, but so far as they could tell, the demon in her hadn’t hurt anyone. She’d just up and disappeared.

It was Chas who found her in the nearby national park, his time playing hide and seek with Geraldine no doubt tipping him off to the sorts of places a little girl would hide. And it was Chas who led the way back out of the trees, his newest fan cradled in his arms. And it was Chas who coaxed Lisa out of shock and into the somewhat more talkative state she's in now.

And it was Chas who nodded along dutifully as Lisa explained her ten year plan, asking questions and telling her about his daughter’s grand plan for becoming the world’s most successful ice cream taster.

Personally, John sees a number of issues with both plans that will trip the girls up as they get older, but he keeps them to himself. No sense in upsetting the girl now about the future when the present’s already got her scared.

The world will tear up her dreams in its own time. John’s got no reason to hurry the process.

It's too bad Chas is out with Zed collecting ingredients for the banishing spell. He'd appreciate John’s restraint.

Unfortunately, Lisa doesn't know who John is or how kind he’s being by keeping his mouth shut, so she's just been staring at him from the sofa with the open wariness that’s singular to people who’ve just learned the world is a hell of a lot crueler than they thought.

It's been nearly twenty-five minutes, though, and the girl hasn't said a bloody word. It's almost impressive, in a creepy sort of way.

John has no idea when Chas and Zed will get back, and he'd really rather not just sit in silence with nothing to do while a little girl stares at him. He’s never had much to do with children. Geraldine’s the only one he’s ever spent much time with, but she's very much her father’s daughter- got the same big, open heart that gets Chas in trouble. She couldn't have disliked John if she'd wanted to.

Lisa is no Geraldine, but she seems like a good sort. Certainly got a good head on her shoulders to recognize that something bad was happening and that she needed to go somewhere safe. She just needs some encouragement to come out of her shell is all.

John knows the perfect way to help with that.

He takes a minute to rummage through the fridge just to be sure he has what he needs. Of course he does. Typical Chas, even when they’re out “roughing it”, he’s bought lots of fruit and vegetables. They look quite nice, actually. It’s a shame John won’t be eating any. 

Grabbing two of the apples, John quickly shuts the refrigerator. He hunts through the drawers for a sharp knife, fetches a candle from his bag, then joins Lisa on the sofa, settling in on the section farthest from her.

She openly tracks his movements, watching curiously as John puts everything on the low coffee table in front of the sofa.

“Did you know that there’s a bit of magic in everything?” John asks. “There’s even enough to tell the future from an apple. You wanna learn how?”

Lisa nods quickly.

“Excellent. Lucky for us, it’s a pisseasy spell. You peel an apple- all in one go, mind you- light a candle, say a few words, then toss the peel over your shoulder. And when you turn around, it spells out your soulmate’s initials.”

Eyes wide, Lisa asks, “Can we do it?”

“Absolutely. But,” he says, keeping careful hold of the knife, “you've got to let me help you peel, all right? Chas wouldn't be happy if you cut yourself.”

She debates this internally for a bit. John can almost see the wheels turning in her head as she works through the caveat, weighing her sense of independence against her desire to do magic.

Finally, she nods, and John smiles at her. “Atta girl. You're gonna do most of the work, all right? I'm just gonna hold your hands and make sure we don't have any accidents, yeah?”

She nods again, impatient this time.

It takes a while to peel the apple this way, with Lisa doing her best and John wishing he’d just peeled the damn thing himself as he tries not to let on how much effort he’s putting into keeping her from accidentally putting the knife through their joined hands. 

Best not get blood mixed in with a spell that doesn’t call for it. Things tend to get messy when you start adding body parts.

Someone really ought to have told John that before he tried to juice up an old spell for making hearing sharper. His ears returned to their normal size eventually but not before he got a horrifying glimpse into his friends’ lives and acquired a taste for Bacardi. 

By the time they finish, John’s hands are stiff and sticky, but Lisa looks thrilled. That's the point of all this, he reminds himself. Make the girl more comfortable. Make her feel safe so she can go back to her family and live a long, quiet life. Make her forget about the fact that monsters are real. Make her think about something other than the terror she felt when one of them came for her.

Swallowing, John gently pries the apple and its peel out of Lisa’s hands. He gently sets them on the table. Then, after he's wiped his hands on his trousers, he takes his lighter from his pocket and picks up the candle. 

“You'll have to learn a bit of Latin to make the magic work,” he explains once the candle is lit. “Not a lot- just a couple words. You up for it?”

Lisa nods. 

She's a quick study, it turns out. Gets the words right after only a couple tries and easily parrots them back to John. 

“Now all you've got to do is throw the peel over your shoulder when you finish,” he says, jerking his head to indicate she should do it away from the sofa.

He watches her carefully as she gets to her feet and picks up the peel. She recites the incantation perfectly, but he doesn’t relax, his eyes trained on her in case she somehow misspoke and the spell backfires. 

Smiling at him, she tosses the peel over her shoulder.

If only John had that kind of luck.

When she turns around, though, her expression pinches.

“Does it not look right, love?” John asks, heart pounding. If she’s one of the people who’s got a complicated name situation, or she’s got multiple, or-

“No, it does,” Lisa says, and John’s heart stops trying to break out of his chest. “But I don't know anybody with a name that fits.”

“Well, that's all right then. You're only young. Got a long time to find your soulmate, you have.”

She obviously isn't appeased by that, but she doesn’t dwell on it for too long. Looking up from the floor, she asks, “What about you?”

John frowns. “What about me?”

“What are your soulmate’s initials?”

Ah. “Couldn't tell ya, love. I’ve never done it.”

Lisa frowns back at him. “Why not?”

“Never wanted to, I suppose.” It’s not even a lie, not really. John genuinely hasn’t ever wanted to cast this particular spell.

“You should check,” Lisa tells him firmly.

There's no good way of explaining to a child that sometimes people don't want to know things because they’re happier not knowing. That growing up means finding out that life is full of mysteries, and you’ll be happier if you leave most of them unsolved. That answers can hurt more than the itch of not knowing.

Rather than get into a fight he can’t win, John sighs and picks up the apple he only brought along in case they mangled the first one.

Peeling by himself goes faster than it did when he had to guide Lisa’s hands. He isn't sure that's a good thing.

By the time he places the peeled part of the apple on the table, Lisa has hopped back onto the sofa and is crunching her way through the first apple.

It’s probably not sanitary, given they held the flesh in their bare, unwashed hands, but it's too late now.

Besides, dirt and germs are good for kids.

John has definitely heard Chas say that.

When he finishes with the peel, John considers procrastinating. He could come up with an excuse for not being able to do it. 

Glancing to the side, he meets Lisa’s expectant gaze and resigns himself to a bit of humiliation for the greater good.

When he gets up, he spots Lisa’s peel on the floor, the length of it curled into three perfect letters.

He's got no idea what he'll tell her when his peel doesn't do the same. Some people don't need that kind of love, sure. They may not want it or feel it, and they live perfectly happy lives. John can name a few he knows himself; they're not so uncommon.

A soul that isn't shaped for romance isn't very well going to have a romantic soulmate, is it?

The problem is, John  _ is _ shaped for romance. He's acutely aware of the emptiness of his bed and the lack of a hand holding his. He sees couples sharing space, leaning into each other physically because they share space mentally, and he feels his chest tighten with envy.

He could tweak the spell on the fly, change love to affection. But spells like this are notoriously resistant to intentional tampering. They're the oldest kind of magic, born from fears and desires that go back to a time when humans did little more than grunt and point, and they're keyed into that old, primal part of people. An incantation only directs the magic. Spells as old and powerful as this one rarely follow directions that run counter to their nature.

If John got lucky, the spell could simply not work. 

If he got unlucky, the spell could kill him.

Best not chance it with this audience.

“Here we go,” he tells Lisa. He forces a smile, which she returns with a genuine one.

Chas is going to owe John something big for this. Full English breakfast, tea made in a kettle instead of the microwave, no pointed comments about how John should do his laundry more often for at least a month.

Blowing out a breath, John mutters the incantation and tosses the peel over his shoulder.

He doesn't mean to close his eyes, but he does. He must keep them that way for a bit, too, because he doesn't realize Lisa has gotten up until he hears her read out, “F W C.”

There's no bloody way. 

John opens his eyes and turns around. Staring up at him from the floor, letters looped in a way that's impossible to misread, are Chas’ initials.

Good ol’ Chas, John thinks dazedly. If anybody was going to get John out of the jam he was in, it would be Chas. 

“Do you know who it is?” Lisa asks, a spark of interest animating her face.

John nods, swallowing hard as he does. “I do indeed.”

“Will you tell them?”

Absolutely not. John doesn't need to hear Chas laugh awkwardly at the idea of John loving anyone like a soulmate. 

He doesn’t need Zed to give him that sad look of hers that says she pities him for being broken. 

He doesn’t need Anne Marie to phone him and ask why he’d bother Chas. 

He doesn't need to hear that Chas doesn't love him the way John wishes he did.

“It's a big thing to tell a person,” he hedges, cursing himself for not just lying when he had the chance to stop this cold. “I'll have to find the right moment.”

Lisa nods, already aware that love is a big, powerful thing.

“Well, we’ve had our fun,” John says briskly, “but Chas won't like it if he comes back and there's food on the floor.”

Perking up, Lisa immediately volunteers to clean up. John goes with her in case something she needs is up high, then sits down at the kitchen table while she busies herself cleaning up. 

He's just about convinced himself that the spell must have latched onto Chas because John was thinking about him before he cast it when Chas himself returns. He's got a couple bags and Zed with him, who has two bags of her own.

“Lunch is here,” she says cheerfully as she sets her bags down on the table and starts pulling out plastic cutlery and styrofoam boxes. “I convinced Chas to let us get takeout.”

Grateful for the distraction, John accepts the box she hands him. “How'd you manage that, then?”

“I took the taxi, bought the food myself, and pointed out that you can't return takeout.”

Zed smiles at Chas as she says it, expression bright and happy and unrepentant, but it's Chas’ put upon huff as he takes out the ingredients he collected for the spell that makes John laugh.

“I’m gonna go sit with Lisa,” Zed says, voice softer though she’s still smiling. “Why don’t you hang back with Chas?”

John can’t be sure how she knows he needs some quiet time, but he isn’t about to ask. He just nods at her and watches as she grabs two boxes from the table and two drinks from the fridge, then heads over to the sofa where Lisa is doing a pisspoor job of pretending she isn’t listening.

“Not hungry?”

John doesn’t startle- he knew Chas was behind him- but he does grip the box a little tighter. “I’m plenty hungry. Just thinking, is all.”

Chas makes a knowing sound as he settles into the chair beside John. He places two drinks on the table, water for himself and a sports drink John knows is for him. There’s a second box on the table, clearly meant for Chas, which he gamely opens and starts fussing with.

He lets John sit quietly, which he probably means as a kindness.

John isn’t sure being left alone in his head is kind.

He’s never been interested in soulmates. Life’s supposed to last a while, and John knows better than to think anyone will keep him that long. He’s been finding bits of happiness where he can for years, and that’s done him just fine. Why the hell would he give up what he knows is good because somebody out there might be better? Unless soulmates have some sort of immortality, they’ll die just like anyone else.

But John didn’t get some faceless string of letters. He got Chas.

If anyone makes John happy, Chas does.

Which is why John can’t tell him. He can’t risk losing any of what he has left.

But he could have more. John could have more of Chas, and when has John ever not wanted that?

Despite being the cause of John’s mounting stress, the warm press of Chas’ leg against his under the table is grounding. 

John isn’t a small man and doesn’t think of himself as one. He’s not soft, and he’s got the scars and body count to prove it. 

Next to Chas, though, he feels almost delicate. 

John’s always had a thing for big men. Got a bit of danger built in, they do.

Even Chas has that edge. Get him riled up enough- first find the right bloody button to rile him at all- and Chas can do all sorts of phenomenally stupid things. Like when he knocked John out when they were dealing with Felix Faust. 

He still felt compelled to tuck John away so he wasn’t just lying vulnerable on the ground, though, and that’s probably why John wants him like he does. Chas has his temper, and it’s gotten him in all sorts of trouble. But he’s no good at leaving John to suffer for it. He’s no good at letting John suffer at all, even when it’s John’s own doing.

It used to be weird, the way Chas looks after him, but over the years, John’s gotten more and more used to it. He counts on it now. Craves it. Looks for ways of getting Chas to pay attention to him like John is fourteen and trying to impress his crush. Only the opposite. A crush makes you do stupid things so you look good. John does dangerous things because he wants to be stopped. Makes himself stay up late doing stupid things just to get Chas to scold him and take the weapon or spellbook or laptop away.

Fuck. John’s had it bad for years, hasn’t he? And he didn’t even realize it.

Fingers itching for a cigarette Chas won’t let him smoke- no lighting up when there’s kids around- John winds up fiddling with his plastic knife and fork. That quickly gets boring, though, so he decides he may as well take a look at what Zed got him.

“Well, what have we here?” John purrs, taking out a churro. 

Beside him, Chas sighs. “You’re gonna have a heart attack in your thirties, you know.”

John pauses, the treat an inch from his mouth. “Not me, mate,” he says. “Got a heart of iron, I have.”

“Iron rusts,” Chas points out dryly.

John shrugs like he doesn’t care but watches, an annoying flutter in his gut, as Chas shakes his head and turns back to his own box. 

Not wanting to dwell on the flutter and the looming threat of being useless anytime Chas is around, John distracts himself by looking at Chas’ lunch. 

What he spots makes him wish he hadn’t looked. Chas has three sections of the most beautiful quesadilla John has ever seen, along with three containers of stuff to dip them in.

John hasn’t had a proper meal in over a week. Been too busy for one. He loves a good churro, but he can smell the cheese and the meat and the onion…

He startles when he hears a loud noise, only to relax a second later when he realizes it was just Chas scooting his chair closer. 

“Your hands better be clean,” Chas mutters. Then he’s pushing a section of the quesadilla at John. “Sour cream,” he says, pointing to one of the containers. “Guacamole. Salsa.”

That said, he picks up a section for himself, dips it in the salsa, and takes a bite.

John doesn’t thank him, but he does put his churro away for later. 

Reaching over to grab the food gives John a chance to enjoy how good it feels to lean against Chas.

Even without getting all that close, he just catches the scent of Chas’ beard oil- it’s nice, something clean and woodsy that suits him. It’s the one John likes best. 

Which is an odd thought to have about your mate. Noticing he smells nice is one thing, but this is a bit much. John never gave this much thought to how Gaz or Ritchie smelled. He definitely didn’t have a favorite way for them to smell.

How did John never notice how much attention he pays to Chas?

Other people do notice that Chas smells nice, too, though. Chas tends to attract some very tenacious hangers-on when they spend longer than a day or two somewhere; everybody and their grandmother wants to have a go on him, seems like.

It always makes the back of John’s neck prickle to see them cornering Chas and putting their hands on him and flirting with him. Even when Chas doesn’t mind, John decidedly does.

At least now he knows why.

The way they are now, John eating Chas’ food while they sit firmly in each other’s space, the soulmates thing feels believable. John’s always tolerated Chas better than he tolerates anyone else, and Chas has certainly stuck around when no one else would.

If it were only a matter of compatibility, John would have found his way into Chad’ pants ages ago.

John’s the kind of guilty he can’t atone for, has been from his first breath.

Purity has never been John’s thing. He lives in the gutter, and eventually he’ll die in the gutter. He’s fine with that. He’ll drink too much and sleep with too many people and smoke til his lungs give out, and he’ll meet death as a man who lived his life on his terms.

Goodness, on the other hand…

John can respect goodness when it’s genuine. 

And Chas? He’s about as good as regular men like them come. He’s not getting canonized anytime soon, sure. But he cares about other people. He watches their drinks in pubs and helps grannies cross the street and walks women to their cars when it’s dark out, and he does it all because they need help and he can give it.

Typical of this awful world to use John to punish him.

Of course, that only holds true if Chas finds out about them being soulmates. Which he won’t, because John isn’t going to tell him, and Lisa doesn’t know Chas’ real first name is Francis. So the secret is safe.

In the next room, Zed and Lisa are happily chatting away. Zed’s got a sketch pad out, and whatever she’s drawing has the little girl looking at the paper with wide eyes.

“How come she never draws for us?” John asks as he blatantly double dips in the salsa.

“How come she never draws for you, you mean,” Chas corrects.

“Hold up. Are you’re telling me she’s given you a drawing?”

Chas nods, looking at John out the corner of his eye. “Couple of ‘em, yeah. They’re nice.”

Sometimes, John would like nothing better than to kick Chas’ shins in. Chas is doing a remarkably good job of keeping a straight face, but John knows when Chas is laughing at him. “Go on, then. What’ve you got?”

“They’re really just sketches, John. Trees and things, you know?” Sobering, he adds, “She did get Geraldine to sit for a little portrait, though. Ran it past Renee and gave it to me as a surprise.”

Ordinarily, John would seize on Zed having Renee’s number while John still isn’t allowed to talk to her unsupervised, but there’s something off about Chas’ voice.

Probably feeling like shite at the reminder that he wouldn’t need Renee to okay a portrait of his daughter if he were at home with her instead of out here, John decides.

He gives Chas a nudge with his elbow. “You’re getting soft in your old age, aren’t you? She gives you a couple sketches and you’ve practically adopted her.”

Chas rolls his eyes and mumbles something that sounds a lot like “fuck off”. He sounds normal again, though, so John counts it as a win.

Not long after that, once John has taken and eaten the last slice of the quesadilla and Zed’s brought Lisa over, they get down to business. The demon chasing her won’t be too difficult to send back to hell. They’ve just got to keep it in place long enough for John and Zed to recite the massive spell.

Lisa nods when John tells her she’ll have to sit inside the circle on the floor, but she still looks nervous.

“Hey,” Chas says, walking over and squatting in front of her. “You remember me, right?” 

She nods. “Mr. Chas.”

“That’s right. But do you know what I do?”

Lisa shakes her head.

Chas holds out his hands, which Lisa takes after a moment. “Well, my friends over there-“ he nods at John and Zed “-they’re really good at what they do. They’ll send the monster far away, to a place where it won’t ever be able to come back from. But they have to be outside the circle, right?”

Lisa nods. 

“Well, I’m the one who stands in the circle with you. You just have to hold my hand and close your eyes, and when you open them up, everything will be okay again.”

Lisa doesn’t look entirely reassured (Chas looks more like he spends his time grilling burgers than fighting evil, and even a little one like her can see that), but she takes his hand and shuts her eyes.

And with that, they’re ready to summon the demon.

 

xx

 

John exhales slowly, blowing a column of smoke toward the ceiling. The demon is back in the bowels of hell, Lisa is on her way back home, and nobody died.

And John can finally smoke again.

The problem is, as John watched Chas wrestling with the demon, he’d caught a glimpse of the future. 

It wasn’t a sudden manifestation of clairvoyance, just a vivid extrapolation of the human mind, but it left John with a bad taste in his mouth nonetheless.

He’s resigned to living with the consequences of his choices. And he’s accepted that the people around him won’t lead the long, happy lives they ought to. Chas gets killed every time they face a new bit of evil they don’t recognize, and Zed’s got fanatics after her- though that’s her father’s doing rather than John’s.

But where John and Zed are more or less trapped in this life, Chas is not. If he let that anger he’s got coiled in his belly tell him to walk away and actually listened to it, he might just get to live out his days with Renee and Geraldine, far from the yawning maw of hell that never slips far behind John.

Chas could live a different life that would honor the souls inside him just as much as this one. Happiness and love and watching his family grow- those are things the dead can’t experience. But Chas could do them for them.

He won’t, though, because under the soft exterior and under the anger lies the very simple fact that Chas threw his lot in with John when they were younger, and so far as Chas cares, that means he’s gonna follow John until he can’t.

Stupid git.

Agitated, John makes himself focus on every kick of nicotine as he pulls the smoke into his lungs and slowly lets it back out.

He’s puffed his way through the rest of the cigarette, finishes a second, and makes it a good amount of the way through a third before he hears the door open. Only one set of footsteps, though, and they’re too heavy to be Zed’s.

“You didn’t wait long, I take it,” Chas observes, tone mildly amused, as he heads for the section of the sofa with John’s feet. John lifts them, figuring Chas will want to sit somewhere comfortable rather than one of the wooden Adirondack chairs the owners inexplicably thought should be used indoors, and Chas obligingly lets John put them in his lap when he sits.

John shrugs. “Why delay what can be done today?”

He offers a cigarette to Chas, but Chas shakes his head. He smoked a bit when they were younger, but he kicked the habit when Renee got pregnant. Didn’t want to expose her or the baby to it, probably.

Or maybe he figured he should try to extend his life so he’d be around to keep an eye on them.

Could easily be both.

The result is the same: John has his vice, and Chas has his virtue.

Funny, that.

“Zed all right?” John asks.

“Yeah, she just went for a walk. It can’t be easy for her, being cooped up with her father out there looking for her.”

They don’t all have fathers that love them the way Chas loves Geraldine. John’s got his own scars, albeit more literal ones than Zed’s, but he remembers the waiting. Knowing what was coming but unable to prevent it, and all that left was counting down the time until the inevitable.

“We’re gonna have to do something about that,” Chas continues. 

“Like what?” John asks. He isn’t antagonizing. He’s spent ages thinking it over, but he can’t find a solution to the problem of Zed’s invisible pursuers. 

Chas shakes his head. “I don’t know, John. But we’ve got to do something.”

He’s right, of course.

Ritchie didn’t like hearing from John again so soon, but he understood the importance of the situation. Once he gets back to John with what he’s gleaned, they’ll find a way forward.

“We’ll come up with something,” John promises, shifting one leg to nudge at Chas’ thigh with his heel. “Always do, don’t we?”

Rolling his eyes, Chas snorts, but he doesn’t actually disagree. It’s as close to agreement as he’ll give, and as they lapse into silence, John lets himself be pleased. 

He sighs when Chas lays a hand on his ankle, his hand warm and broad and not as familiar as John sometimes lets himself wish it were.

There aren’t a lot of people who like being around John like this. Before Newcastle, John was more interested in living as loudly as he could to bother with closeness, and after Newcastle, he hasn’t wanted company. Have a nice shag, spend the night if he was allowed and feeling worn out enough, then leave.

Even John gets the odd craving for a bit of intimacy, though. Zed’s been good for that; she’s always beckoning at him to sit beside her as she sketches or paints. She gets in John’s space in return, sitting too close on buses and hip checking him in the kitchen.

But Zed knows about John’s past second-hand. There’s a space between John and her that even psychic powers can’t bridge.

Chas saw it all himself. The rise and fall of John Constantine, live in technicolor. And he’s spent the time after that watching over John as he rebuilds. He helps where he can, snapping at John when necessary, and John knows that if his mind were a building, the foundation would have Chas’ handprints in it.

He doesn’t mind.

It’s unsettling, but John is glad to have a reminder that Chas was with him here. 

John is taking a long drag on his cigarette when Chas breaks the silence. 

“Lisa sure took a shine to you.”

“Don’t sounds so surprised, mate. I’m a likable bloke.”

“Oh, I’m sure. That’s why you’re always getting punched, isn’t it? People like you so much, they just have to hit you.” Chas smiles as he says it, not looking at John but doing nothing more to hide the way his lips are quirked.

Narrowing his eyes in mock anger, John says, “I don’t think I like your tone, mate.”

Chas just hums and brushes his thumb over John’s ankle. He strokes it back and forth, and without meaning to, John finds himself closing his eyes, letting the motion lull him into a comfortable doze. 

Sometime later, Chas says, “She said you taught her some magic.”

“Just some kids’ magic,” John explains, not bothering to open his eyes. “Finding your soulmate in an apple peel. Nothing dangerous.”

“You don’t think love is dangerous?”

And that’s a leading line if John’s ever hears one. “No more than any other feeling.”

Chas doesn’t reply for a long moment, and John forces himself to open his eyes and stub out his cigarette in the ashtray he’s got balanced on his hip. 

With that done and hoping to avoid the conversation Chas is working up to, John closes his eyes.

A moment later, the weight of the ashtray disappears. Then a clink follows, and John figures Chas must have put the ashtray on the little table at his end.

For a second, John thinks he may have gotten away with it.

Then Chas says, “She told us you did it, too, John.”

It’s clear where this is going, but as much as John wants to make an escape, he can’t outmuscle or outrun Chas. “She wanted me to do it,” he says carefully. “I couldn’t very well say no, could I?”

Chas’ thumb, which is still rubbing John’s ankle, doesn’t falter. “She remembered your soulmate’s initials, you know.”

“Did she now?” John asks. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest. “That’s interesting.”

“She was worried you weren’t going to say anything to your soulmate.”

Unable to keep his eyes shut any longer, John opens them. He can’t look at Chas’ face yet. He can’t. But he can watch Chas touch him. “Well, if we really are soulmates, we ought to be destined to find each other, wouldn’t you say?” John asks.

“Finding isn’t the same as keeping, though, is it?” Chas counters gently. “And they’d only know to reach for you if they knew magic, too.”

There’s an invitation in his voice, warm and enticing, and if this were anyone other than Chas, John would be pulling his clothes off. But it is Chas, and Chas isn’t the seductive type. His appeal is in his earnest, open face and the way he never flinches from a person’s ugly parts. He’ll take a look at all the shite you’re keeping in your chest, and he’ll just pour you another drink.

He doesn’t need to have a voice like honey to get John’s attention. He’s had it since John left Liverpool for London and met a tall, gangly bloke just a little older than he was, and it’s never wavered.

Well, it’s maybe wavered a little. John doesn’t let himself dwell over lost causes so much he misses out on attainable things, and wanting Chas has always been that.

Letting out a breath, John risks a look at Chas’ face.

The way Chas is looking at him isn’t totally unfamiliar. John saw it a lot when they were younger. Then Chas met Renee and got his kiss, and he didn’t make it for years. With his marriage over, Chas seemed uninterested in making it again.

He’s making it again now, and there’s nobody he could be making it at but John.

Chas is stability. He’s reliable and familiar, and there’s a part of John that craves him more than he’s ever craved a cigarette. It knows that Chas is the type that likes to do things like holding hands and laying a blanket on the ground so you can stare up at the stars together- and fucking on that blanket, because Chas may not be as interested in casual sex as John is, but he got around enough to build his own reputation.

But there’s another part of John that resists the thought of being with Chas for those very same reasons.

Maybe not the last one.

“If you want to ignore it,” Chas says, “then I won’t push. We can leave this bit of magic here, and I’ll never bring it up again.” He leans forward. “For the record, I don’t give a damn about soulmates, and I’ve wanted you since long before we set foot in Tennessee.”

Here’s the earnestness John knows. Chas wants him; that’s written across every bit of his face. 

But he’s waiting for John to choose. Whatever way forward John decides on, Chas is ready to go with it. Even if it’s not what Chas wants.

“As if I’d ever say no,” John says right before he hauls himself upright.

“Thank God,” Chas breathes, already reaching for him.

It takes some maneuvering for John to get himself settled comfortably in Chas’ lap with his knees on either side of Chas’ hips. He manages it, though, with a minimum of help from Chas along the way.

It’s disconcerting, seeing Chas from this angle.

John has thought about doing this before, sure. He’s thought about doing all sorts of things with Chas. Compared to most of them, this is tame. 

But the way Chas is looking at him isn’t, and despite the part of him that thinks this isn’t going to hurt like it should, John fits his hands to the sides of Chas’ face and pulls him in for a kiss.

Chas kisses him softly, one of his hands coming up to cradle John’s neck. His beard rasps against John’s face when he tilts his head, but his lips are soft. When John opens his mouth, Chas slips him some tongue, and John can’t help but tighten his hold on Chas’ face. It gets him a low, pleased noise from Chas, which only serves to make John kiss him harder.

Chas’ other hand, the one that’s not stroking the back of John’s neck, has found its way to John’s arse. Chas isn't squeezing hard enough to hurt, let alone bruise, but it still feels possessive.

There haven't been many people in John’s life who've held him like this, like they want him to stay.

Fewer still have meant it.

Chas always has been a bit of an outlier, though.

John moves his hands from Chas’ face and slides them down his neck to his chest, fingers twisting in Chas’ shirt, right hand scrunching the material over his heart. The shirt is one of Chas’ endless supply of henleys; this one has been worn impossibly thin and lost most of its color from years of washing. It's soft under John’s hands, softer than he'd dared to wonder, and when he lets one of his hands wander, uncurling and sliding flat over Chas’ chest to his shoulder, Chas gives John’s arse a good squeeze.

Pulling back, John asks, “D’you know how long I’ve wanted you?”

He didn’t mean to ask that.

It must be the atmosphere. John has endured enough bad romance movies to know this is the place where they’re supposed to tell each other how much they want to fuck. Chas deserves better than a rehash of that, but this is what John can give him.

Frown disappearing, Chas’ expression moves into a look that makes it hard for John not to shift and just rub off on his leg.

“Not as long as I’ve wanted you,” Chas says simply. He shrugs like he doesn’t know John can see the l-word in every centimeter of his face.

Like he doesn’t know how desperate John is for him to understand that this isn’t new. The apple peel didn’t tell John anything about himself he didn’t already know. It just made him acknowledge it.

Chas cranes his neck for another kiss, and John doesn’t make him wait.

John loses track of time as he and Chas neck on the sofa. He knows he gets his hands under Chas’ shirt, tugging it up so he can feel Chas’ makes heartbeat, and he knows Chas gets a hand down the back of John’s pants. Chas guides it down John’s back and slips under the waistband of his boxers, the feeling of his rough fingertips moving against the sensitive skin sending a shiver up John’s spine.

It feels so good, John can’t help but moan.

He’s hard, and he can feel that Chas is, too. He can’t figure out why they aren’t doing anything more than grinding together with their clothes on, but every time he thinks he might have the start of a better idea, Chas distracts him with a noise or the brush of a finger over John’s hole.

Which is probably why he doesn’t realize they aren’t alone until it’s too late. 

“Chas!”

Caught off guard, John’s reflex is to stop kissing and find the intruder but keep a tight hold on Chas. 

It’s only Zed, but she doesn’t look happy. 

For his part, Chas only looks a little flustered. “I said half an hour,” he grouches. 

“Which I gave you- and an extra ten minutes.”

“Oh.”

John looks back and forth between them for a bit before his brain catches up. “You planned this,” he says, settling on Chas.

“Not really.” Chas has reclaimed his hand from John’s head- but not, interestingly, from his pants- which he runs through his hair. “I figured you wouldn’t need more of an audience than necessary when I talked to you. I had no idea how you’d take things, and Zed said she’d be somewhere else while you worked through them.”

“You doing all that shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as it is,” John says without thinking. Chas gives him a pissy look, but John shrugs. “I don’t suppose you could get her to take another little walk? We’d only need another half an hour.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Zed says sharply.

“You may want to relocate soon, love,” John tells her. “I’m not sure you’ll want to see Chas and me in the state we’re about to be in.”

Zed groans but wisely turns and walks away.

“We need to be ready to leave in an hour and a half!” she calls as she reaches the front door. “At most!”

Other than being hard and unwilling to leave without getting Chas’ clothes off, John could leave right now.

Moving back into Chas’ space, John asks, “You got much packing to do, mate?”

“Nah, I’m all set,” Chas says, closing his hand around John’s tie. He pauses with it between his fingers. “Actually,” he says lightly, his eyes flicking down to John’s tie, “I think I might need to change my clothes in a bit.”

Swallowing hard, John nods. “Funny you should say that. I think I might need to as well.”

Chas’ hold on John’s arse gets tighter, and John has to take a second to remember how to speak.

“Chas?”

Chas’ eyes flick back up to John’s face. 

“We’ve got ninety minutes, a roll of condoms, and a big bottle of that fancy lube you yelled at me for getting.” John smirks at him. “Not yelling now, though, are we?”

“You ‘got’ it by stealing it, John. From a dead man.”

“It’s not as if he was gonna be using it, now was he? Perfectly good bottle, still in the plastic. What was I gonna do, Chas? Leave it for the police to squander?”

That gets him a snort, and John knows the mood’s truly been shot to hell.

He doesn’t mind, though. He’s finally got his hands on Chas without anything in the way, there’s a hand down his pants, and Chas is looking at him like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. So far as John’s concerned, he’s doing pretty damn well.

“Guess we should probably use it, huh?” Chas asks. He’s openly smiling, not even bothering to pretend this is anything other than a bit of fun. “Can’t risk somebody stealing it from us, now can we?”

“It’s a bold man who assumes I’ve gone without a fuck for two months,” John counters. He regrets it the second he’s said it, but Chas just wraps his fingers around John’s tie and gives it a tug, pulling John close enough that when he speaks, John can feel Chas’ beard brushing against his face.

“You’re a dick.”

Maybe John should at least pretend to argue the point, but Chas kisses him before John can decide whether he cares.

Turns out he doesn’t.


End file.
